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January 2006. Muswell HillRule 34: you can lead a horse to water, you can’t make him dance (and everything you need to know about hosting kids’ parties)
I’ve got very strong views about children’s parties, which is mainly because, when I was a child, I only had one of them. The best thing about it was the Deadly Fortress birthday cake, which my mother made for me. It was basically just a round sponge, covered with green icing, but I decorated it with plastic soldiers, who were mid-battle. I had some cutlass-waving Turks, who were sneaking round the outside, but you could just tell that they were going to be no match, for the World War One Tommies, who were standing guard on the top. The Turks had cutlasses; the Tommies had guns.
Now. Let’s get the facts straight. We were celebrating my fourth birthday. My mum decided it would be held on the Saturday after my birthday. Already, I felt this was showing scant disregard for the actual details, and I resented that. But the major problems really started because I had to share the event with my brother James, who was two. His friends were only toddlers. They came with their parents. And some of them couldn’t stand up, without holding onto furniture, and they didn’t understand the games. I had foreseen the problems inherent with that, weeks in advance, and I’d warned my mother, quite forcefully, of the possible dangers. She stuck to her plan. She even invited a Family Friend.
OK. The day arrived. Kids turned up. They brought presents, although, confusingly, they weren’t all for me. Energy was high. We cracked into the games pretty much right away. It was Musical Bumps, which I won. Fair enough. It was my party, and I’m pretty much unbeatable at Musical Bumps. After that was Musical Statues, which I was winning as well. But then my mum, out of some pissy, liberal sense of egalitarianism, disqualified me for blinking. A toddler actually won, and I still refuse to back down from my opinion that that toddler, frankly, was all over the place like a mad woman’s piss. When I was disqualified, my older brother, Robert – who had also invited two friends – started to jeer. I pushed him, quite hard, and he, accidentally-on-purpose, stumbled into the Deadly Fortress birthday cake. Quite rightly, I took very severe objection to this. At this point my mother said that I was showing off. I felt, very passionately, that this was my birthday: I had a right to show off. She disagreed. She sent me to the bathroom, where I remained for the rest of the occasion.
I am an adult, and I’ve since forgiven my mother, my little brother, but not my older brother. I pretend to, but I haven’t. I’ve learned that passions can run very high, at a child’s birthday party. I take a keen interest in them to this day. We always have parties, and we’re improving the system every time.
We’ve developed these very strict rules…
- Don’t invite the parents. If you’re inviting three year olds, you’ll meet a mum who says: “I’ve never left Stanley on his own.” This means Stanley’s mum is a neurotic who’s cloying her child with her needy, fearful love. If she stays, he’ll be the one screaming. Parents are like alcohol: they make the guests loud and prone to tears. Parents also whitter about their loft extensions. It’s bad this is boring. It’s unforgivable it’s happening when you’re trying to conduct Musical Bumps.
- OK, if you’ve got a toddler, you can invite three friends with kids the same age. But don’t kid yourself, you’re doing this cos you fancy inviting your mates to drink wine and sing happy birthday. Good for you. But Birthday Child will see those toddlers for what they are: rivals. Noisy whingers who may steal their toys.
- If you’ve got a three year old, invite four friends from playschool. That’s it. Sure, I know you’ve got a gorgeous friend, who lives in Bedford, and she’s got two kids… If the Bedford family come, they’ll become Family Friends. You were a kid once. Remember what a Family Friend is: it’s a freak, whose Mum likes your Mum. My Family Friend was a strange girl called Imogen Statesby who brought two Victorian dolls. She wouldn’t even let me burn them.
- Don’t let siblings through the door. We recently allowed a six year old girl to Grace’s fourth birthday party. She wasn’t even invited, she just came. The girl shouted when she didn’t win. I got kids to perform their party pieces. Small girls lisped through Twinkle-twinkle. It was cute. Then the six year old sang - at length - in French - then cursed the present I gave her. Her parting comment was “I hope your next party is good.”
- Do the party yourself. I’ve got nothing but respect for professional children’s entertainers. They manage to control a group of thirty children. They can even control a group of thirty parents who are swapping stories about their Polish builders. But they prevent everyone from actually mixing. I think that’s a bit prissy. Me and Liv always do ours together. Liv’s job is to step in, when she sees their little eyes getting scared. She makes brilliant teas, and she invents quiet games, such as Pin The Star On The Fairy’s Bottom.
- Remember to have fun. Drug yourself if necessary. Be silly. Be zestful. Don’t just do musical statues. Give prizes for crazy dancing. Make them dance like elephants. Make them float like fairies. Dance yourself. You’ll feel like you’re at a rave, in the middle of the afternoon, and you’re a giant! Brilliant! This is easier if you’re not being stared at by a Mum who’s discussing property in France. Or by a weird freak from Bedford.
- Don’t do too much. Settle everyone right away with an activity (make a crown / wand / birthday dinosaur.) Then have four games (Pass-the-parcel, Musical Statues, Pin The Tail, and finally a Treasure Hunt for chocolate sweets.) Then do tea. After that they’ll be bonded and high on sugar and will conceive games far more interesting than you ever could. Watch. Admire. Only intervene if a child is on the verge of death. And only if they brought a gift.
- At the end, make the parents wait at the front door. Carry their children to them. Why? You’ll feel like SuperDad, as you carry over the child, who’ll be quietly inspecting their Going-home Bag. Introducing a parent, at this stage, would be like bringing in a wild boar. It would cause screams, panic, and untold savagery.
- It also means the party will finish on time. Your child can open the presents. You can eat the cake. Everyone’s a winner.
Topics
What was the worst party you ever had?
What is the secret of giving a good kids party?
What is the secret of giving a good party for adults?
Who was your family friend?
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